


I Spent a Lifetime Looking For You (Searching Their Eyes, Looking For Traces)

by maccabird_23



Series: Written in the Stars (Etched on Your Chest) [2]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabird_23/pseuds/maccabird_23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t touched the files Alfred left on his desk. The ones labeled Clark Kent because he couldn’t allow himself that weakness. It would just be that much harder to kill him if he gave Superman humanity. </p><p>He could allow himself that moment of weakness now, in the presence of a tear-streaked Clark Kent. Give him the humanity he deserved, even if it killed Bruce to hear it. “Then make me understand, Clark.” It took a beat but the moment Clark looked up at him with so much hope in his eyes, Bruce knew he was done for. He didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>A special Thank You to Ladybuuuuugs for translating:</p><p>Part 1: http://stuuuuuuuupid.lofter.com/post/1def9c15_ad4307a<br/>Part 2: http://stuuuuuuuupid.lofter.com/post/1def9c15_b5deacb</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Spent a Lifetime Looking For You (Searching Their Eyes, Looking For Traces)

 

 

“Your ten ‘o clock is here Mr. Wayne.” Bruce looked out at the cityscape, smog shrouded skies and skyscrapers as tall as they were gray. Just another day in Gotham, but his secretary’s words were jarring, and he reminded himself: maybe this was a mistake.

 

Metropolis had been falling, and not because of the aftermath of Doomsday or the death of Superman. Bruce flinched; the wounds still new and sometimes he could still feel the dirt underneath his fingernails from that dawn. Whispering to himself that Clark was alive because sometimes it still felt like a dream.

 

Metropolis was falling because their economy had been injured. Lex for all his corruption and maniac plans had funded that city into prosperity. In the wake of his incarceration investors had been pulling out of the city too rapidly, hundreds of people losing their jobs and it weren’t a problem Batman could fix. Only Bruce could.

 

In a move that Bruce knew he’d one day regret, he’d sent a message over to Europe, demanding that Lex Sr. fix the problem his son had made. Maybe the older man had been too busy starting wars and controlling the arms or oil trade to notice that his son was using Metropolis as his personal chessboard, moving knights, taking queens.

 

He’d raised an eyebrow at Bruce, incredulous to why he would care, but he didn’t bother to answer the older man. Somehow it was enough for Lex and he shook his hand. They’d become partners, putting stock back into the newly re-destroyed city. It felt like making a deal with the devil.

 

Bruce laughed; at the time he thought it’d be the worst decision he’d make, getting into bed with Luther but he was always a man who tried to outdo himself. After it was announced hundreds of Newspapers scrambled to get the first interview with Wayne Corp. His secretary had asked who would be the first, and without thinking he said The Daily Planet.

Bruce wasn’t a masochist or a sadist but he couldn’t answer why he would want to put himself or Lois through this. Sitting for an hour minimum, interviewing the man who almost killed her fiancé, just to leave his unconscious body on his mother’s doorstep. He knew it would be Lois, too. Both were too curious about the other to not agree to this.

 

That’s why it surprised him, sent him reeling, when he turned around, the door closing behind his secretary, and two blue eyes hiding behind black-framed glasses stared back at him.

 

“Clark?” He sat upright, back stiffening like a board, his skin prickling at the other man’s presence. He didn’t respond, slowly walking over and sitting down with such reserve that his shoes barely made a sound, and the chair barely moved as he sat. As if Bruce was a deer and he didn’t want to rattle him. It was too late.

 

“I was told that I didn’t have the proper credentials to have a sit down with Bruce Wayne. Thank God Lois was able to pull some strings or I wouldn’t be here right now.” Clark sat a tape recorder, small and black on the corner of Bruce’s desk. He pressed a button, and he could hear the swirl of the tape as it started. “I also wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you.”

 

The words were barely a whisper, Clark’s eyes down, scanning his notepad, knee jiggling in the staccato of his pen tap. It would have hurt less if Clark has stabbed him in the chest with that pen, the words puncturing Bruce to his core. Clark owed him nothing, but here he sat nervous, not able to meet Bruce’s eyes.

 

He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t take another moment of this. Bruce reached out, arm swinging forward, ready to stop the recording, tell Clark to go home but he froze. Clark flinched back, cowering in his seat, and something angry grew in Bruce. He grabbed the tape recorder, hurling it across the room and sitting back down, deep in his chair.

 

At that moment, he hated himself more than he could ever imagine. Clark wasn’t afraid that he would scare Bruce. He realized, watching Clark’s wide eyes and heavy breathing, that he was scared of Bruce. He’d put that fear into him.

 

“Go home, Clark. Leave the questions. I’ll answer them. Send them over to the Daily Planet. Go home to Lois.” Bruce didn’t look up, waiting for the sound of the door closing. It never came; only soft laughter followed the echo of his words.

 

He looked back up, watched Clark’s face transform into the soft lines of a smile. The other man shook his head, taking off his glasses and peering up at the Bruce. He squinted into the smile, and Bruce had to wonder why. It’s not like he actually need those damn glasses to begin with.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that anymore.” Bruce’s mind jumbled, trying to figure out what he meant. He couldn’t leave? He couldn’t go home? He didn’t need to wait long for an answer. “I’d been searching a long time for a home, Bruce. Somewhere I’d belong. When Krypton was destroyed I was barely out of the womb. I thought I’d found it with Lois but…”

 

Bruce didn’t wait for him to finish, butting in because he didn’t want to hear the end of it. “Don’t be ridiculous. Krypton isn’t real, not for you. That farm with your mother and that shitty apartment with Lois, that’s real.” Clark had a home: with his mom and his fiancé. He remembered those two women, the before and after. Had watched their grief in losing Clark and the joy of having him back in their arms. That was home.

 

Clark shook his head fervently, eyes closed as he mumbled to himself. Bruce had to lean closer, casting a shadow along Clark’s face. He could see the tears clinging to Clark’s eyelashes, gathering at the bridge of his nose. He could finally hear him. “You don’t understand. It’s not that simple, Bruce. It’s never been that simple.”

 

He sat back down, not knowing if he wanted to push Clark further. Not at this moment or ever, but especially now, when he looked so breakable. But there was still a part of Bruce that needed to know. In all the time he had spent researching Superman, figuring out how to murder him, Bruce let himself stay ignorant about the man.

 

He hadn’t touched the files Alfred left on his desk. The ones labeled Clark Kent because he couldn’t allow himself that weakness. It would just be that much harder to kill him if he gave Superman humanity.

 

He could allow himself that moment of weakness now, in the presence of a tear-streaked Clark Kent. Give him the humanity he deserved, even if it killed Bruce to hear it. “Then make me understand, Clark.” It took a beat but the moment Clark looked up at him with so much hope in his eyes, Bruce knew he was done for. He didn’t care.

 

Clark was seventeen years old when he first let the captain of the football team fuck him in the back of his truck. He’d gotten Whitney’s zipper stuck in boxers and skin, the older boy cursing up a storm as he slapped Clark’s hands away. Neither was really going for finesse, settling for pushing their pants and boxers just far enough around their ankles so they could get some proper friction. Both just wanted to get off as fast as possible before Clark’s ma got to wondering where he went after dinner and Lana called Whitney to say goodnight.

 

Guilt streaked through his stomach, thinking about Whitney’s girlfriend. Felt like the aches he got from lifting pa’s tractor to check for damage. They disappeared when Whitney got his hand around Clark’s dick. “Can I fuck you?” Fordman gritted out. He’d just gotten a football scholarship, soon would go to college, and fuck every boy with brown, wavy hair and stunning blue eyes. He’d even marry one, take him home to meet his parents, and put him in a nice house in a modest suburb of Kansas.

 

But that boy would never be Clark. “Hurry the hell up, before I change my mind.” Clark grabbed hold of Whitney dick, stroking it once, twice, before sliding it between his thighs. Whitney didn’t waste any time, grabbing for some lotion lying in the bed of his truck. He pulled at his thighs, yanking them until they were wrapped around his waist, thrusting, impaling Clark too fast, and punching a breath out of him. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, and Clark winced, as the thrust didn’t let up.

 

Clark rode it out, tightening his grips on Whitney, raking his back with blunt nails until he cursed something ugly into Clark’s ear. Clark looked up at the sky as Whitney slumped down on him, fully spent. His back ached, and his lower half stung like hell. There was a falling star streaking across the clear sky, Clark imagined reaching up and grabbing it. Maybe it was going fast enough and far enough to take him home.

 

Whitney dropped him off outside the gate of the Kent farm. The walk would be another block but Clark didn’t mind. Fordman had left him wet and sticky between his thighs but had enough compassion to throw him a slightly used shirt so he wouldn’t go home stinking of sex.

 

The walk was silent but Clark could hear everything from a mile in either direction. Mr. and Mrs. Gable were fighting again, three farms down. He’d come home drunk, smelling like another woman and left the horses out without wiping them down. They were sweaty and cold in the barn. Clark could hear them whimper, as the night grew colder.

 

The Newman boy was creeping along the road, headphones playing ‘The Wizard of Oz’ soundtrack. Clark laughed, humming along. Jack was a strange one. They used to ride bikes together, go off and talk about leaving Smallville, until Whitney threatened to beat him up. “He just wants to get into your fucking pants. Use that brain of yours, Clark. Not every man is good.”

 

He was right of course. Jack tried to rub one out on him after a bottle of bourbon. Clark hadn’t been drunk. Figured out that night that no amount of bourbon could get him drunk but he feigned sickness and ran home. Whitney was right but he also wasn’t much better.

 

Clark paused at the stairs, listening in to see if his ma was asleep, she wasn’t. She was crying again. It had been three months since his father had passed, taken away by the tornado. So many people had lost loved ones, but none of them had the power to stop it. Not like Clark.

 

He could have done so much that sometimes his brain hurt just thinking about it. His father said the world wasn’t ready for him, wasn’t ready to know he existed. He’d been so caught up in thinking about Clark; he never considered that Martha wasn’t ready for a world without her husband. Wasn’t ready for a world where he didn’t exist.

 

Clark’s hand trembled as he reached for the door handle. He wasn’t sure if he could put on another face, pretend he hadn’t heard his ma crying, smile at her and ask her if she was all right. It was his fault, all her misery and sorrow. A life spent dealing with other people telling her that her son wasn’t normal. Then losing her husband for the same reason.

 

This was the day Clark couldn’t deal with that burden, putting on the facade of happiness and naiveté. He looked up at the stars, knowing that there was a place far out there where he would be normal. But right here in Smallville he’d never be that person. He’d only cause more damage and pain.

 

Without a second to consider, because he knew he’d change his mind, Clark fled. Faster than lightning struck he ran from the only home he knew, watching the landscape past by him in a blur, like they were nothing but a memory.

 

“That was the first time I left Smallville, but not the last.” Clark looked up at Bruce, and for his part he stayed motionless, speechless. There had been such a deep hurt in the other man’s voice, guilt and embarrassment while he told Bruce his story. Cutting himself open, showing Bruce the open wound. “I came back to check on ma. Sometimes I thought I could stay but there’d always be some type of reminder of why I had to leave.”

 

“How long were you a drifter?” Bruce’s voice wasn’t much better, scratchy from staying silent, holding back the ache in his chest that. He ran from his own life when he was that age, found meaning in distant places. But even in his loneliest, darkest nights he knew Gotham was waiting for him. Knew he’d do anything for this city because it was home. Even it he didn’t have his parents; he’d always have his city.

 

“Years, maybe ten. I’d hitchhike to different towns, hide away on trains and boats because I could never get far enough. Find odd jobs along the way. Some were less pleasant than others. ” Clark’s voice was strained but he continued. “It was never far enough. I didn’t know I could fly back then and truckers used to look at me funny when they’d ask ‘where to’ and I’d say ‘How about the moon.’”

 

Bruce wished he could have met that boy; somehow found him the answers he was looking for. But it was a stupid thought because Bruce knew he couldn’t give that to Clark. Give him back Krypton, somewhere he’s be accepted, normal. “When did you decide to stop running?”

 

Clark smiled at him, but it wasn’t happy. A grimace that he wiped away, scrubbing his face in the palms of his hands. When he looked back up at Bruce his eyes were gazed over, and he knew Clark wasn’t really looking at him, just staring pass him. “It was kind of decided for me.”

 

Clark knew Zod was in his head, could feel the tendrils of something foreign creeping along his skull. It should have frightened him, but it didn’t. There was something familiar about the grim-faced man. Something in Clark’s soul that told him he was kin.

 

He was strong and wore his dark garb like a second skin. He was so unlike any man Clark had known on Earth. Different than the farmers, truckers, businessmen and Clark gravitated to his power like a magnet to a fridge. He called him Kal-El with the ease of someone who knew the name well.

 

“On Krypton, the genetic template for every being yet to be born is in coded into the registry of citizens. Your father stole the registry’s codex and stored it into the capsule that brought you here.”

 

His father had told him about Krypton, the place he was born and how he’d never be able to return. It was long destroyed, and something broke in Clark’s chest, finally understanding that the home he’d been searching for no longer existed. “What for?” Was Zod telling him that there was a chance? That Krypton did not have to parish with them?  

 

“So that Krypton could live again, on Earth.” There was a spark of something in Zod’s eyes. It looked like hope. Clark wondered if his own eyes mirrored the emotion. “Your mother feared that I would come looking for you. That I’d find you and destroy you but she didn’t understand.”

 

Zod hesitated; stepping closer and Clark leaned towards the older Kryptonian. “It’s my duty to protect Krypton and while I spent years looking for the codex, I was also looking for you. It’s my duty to protect you. You’re my people, Kal.”

 

Clark didn’t know why he took that final step; he’d done some stupid things in his life but embracing this stranger, alien but familiar might have been his worst mistake. He was solid against Clark, and he laid his head down against his shoulder, breathing in skin. He smelled like metal and dust. He wondered if that’s how Krypton had smelled.

 

Zod took hold of his nape, wrapping his fingers around the back of his neck and bringing him closer. “If Krypton had survived. If the Council had seen reason, let your father and I have control. If your father had stayed my friend and not shipped you off to Earth, you and I would have had a different destiny. On Krypton, we would have been bonded once you came of age. We can still have that here.”

 

The kiss was cold and firm, everything that Clark didn’t know he needed. His physiology responded in kind, falling into Zod like a warm bed. His mouth searching something out that his words could not. A promise of home but it was laced with poison and Clark knew it as he broke the kiss.

 

He pushed Zod away, and a look of betrayal and grief passed across his face, looking at the hand that denied him. Clark closed his, not wanting watch as he hurt another person. A swift wind blew across the illusion Zod had made, and the facade was gone. Zod looked at him, face hard and angry, “Where is the codex, Kal?”

 

Clark looked down at the S, stretched tight across his chest. His father had told him it stood for hope but at what cost? “If Krypton lives again, what happens to Earth?” His boots crunched against the skulls that paved the ground like a concrete road. Humanity lost so another could prosper. A shiver went up Clark’s spine in disgust; his mother would be there. Lois too.

 

“A foundation has to be built on something. Even your father recognized that.” Clark felt his heart sinking as he sunk into the pit of skulls. He cried out, pleaded with Zod for another way. He didn’t want to lose the last strand attaching him to his home. He reached out for Zod, his hand grasping at air. The older Kryptonian watched, unwilling to help as he sunk. Just as Clark was unwilling to let innocent people die for his selfishness. He’d made his choice.

 

Clark only let himself cry once after he snapped Zod’s neck. He let himself gather the dead Kryptonian in his arms and mourn what he’d lost. Let himself imagine the future that Zod had given him, hoped for them. Where he’d wake in the arms of his kin, a husband. Did they call them husbands on Krypton?

 

It didn’t really matter now. Krypton didn’t exist, as intangible as the future that he dreamed of. He set Zod aside; put him in that place in his heart where he stored everything he lost. Sometimes it felt so big he thought his heart would burst, paint the walls with his lost hopes.

 

Bruce remembered that day, when Metropolis had been destroyed, thousands of lives lost. He couldn’t protect them but he carried the weight of each life on his shoulders. It’s one of the things that drove his crusade against Superman, that deep hatred for what he’d done. Showed Bruce that with all his planning and scheming that he was still mortal, unable to save the world in the face of something more powerful.

 

And that’s what he’d seen them as, Superman and Zod, things too powerful to let live. He’d watched them from the dust and ash, Gods flying through the air at super-speed, indestructible bodies bringing down entire skyscrapers. He’d been relieved knowing that only one monster had survived, killing his kin, making Bruce’s job easier.

 

It felt a lot less black and white now, listening to Clark. Zod had been his last connection to Krypton, and the monster had whispered dreams into his ear. Giving him hope of some future where they’d be together, rulers of some New Krypton. Giving Clark what he had always wanted so badly: the home he’d lost and someone who could understand him fully. Not just as Clark but as Kal-El.

 

“It’s disgusting, I know. To keep him in my heart.” Clark laughed, not meeting Bruce’s eyes, taking his silence as judgment. Bruce wanted to tell him but couldn’t find the words. Clark had been faced with what he’d always wanted and chose to save Earth instead. Save a humanity that had never accepted Clark, even before he was Superman.

 

“You didn’t owe this world a thing but you saved us all, knowing you’d always be an outsider.” Clark looked across the table, eyes wet and Bruce could tell they’d been in here for hours as the sun set across Clark’s face. Bruce felt the warmth on his back and felt something loosen in his belly. The tight guilt he’d wrapped inside himself melting as Clark’s face softened at his words. “How could you disgust when I know everything you gave up. You were everything this world needed and made the ultimate sacrifice for it.”

 

Clark laughed, smile reaching his eyes. “You sound like my mother. Hell, you even sound like Lois.” The smile wavered, only for a moment before something set in Clark’s jaw. He stood, walking to the other side of the desk, and placing a hand on Bruce’s chair. For his part, Bruce turned to face him, something else entirely settling in his stomach. “Lois told me to come here today. That I wouldn’t really be happy until I got the answers I’ve been searching for.”

 

Clark settled, leaning against the desk as Bruce watched emotions play across his face. The face he’d searched months earlier, looking for signs of life as he pulled Clark from the ground. Bruce had been looking for his own redemption in that face, not willing to ask for more. “What answers could I possibly have for you, Clark?”

 

Clark moved his hand, settling it along Bruce’s shoulder. He could feel the warmth and strength of that hand through layers of clothes, like the sun grasping at him. “Hopefully, a lot,” Clark whispered, and in the silence of the room it echoed.

 

Clark ran his fingers through Lois’ hair, red and fine. He counted the freckles on her face like they were a constellation of stars, each as unique and amazing as the last. He’d been reborn for months and there was still so much about humanity that amazed him all over again. He savored each moment, knowing what death felt like and not wanting to take this for granted.

 

He let his fingers travel, tracing the curve of her neck but paused for a beat. He closed his eyes, his fingers trembling as images played out behind his eyelids. Lois grasped his finger, holding them close to her, laying kisses against his digits. “Clark, what wrong? You’re shaking.”

 

Clark looked at her face, watched worry play out across her features. He leaned in, kissing the mouth that had brought him hope for so long. It was strange how civilizations could be destroyed; humanity threatened on a daily basis but safety could so easily be found on another’s lips. Then just as easily be lost.

 

He remembers Bruce, grasping his body, bringing him close. Clark had laid his head at the crook of his neck. He’d been impossibly cold, but Bruce had been warm, safe. People aren’t allowed to remember being born, being held by their parents for the first time, but Clark remembers his rebirth. He remembers being held by Bruce.

 

“I don’t know why it feels different, Lois, but it does.” Lois was more than his lover, she was one of his only true friends, and he shared everything with her. He hadn’t hesitated, telling her about his dreams. Asking her what it meant, to feel drawn to the man who had resurrected him. Yearned for his touch, like he had yearned for his home. “It’s not healthy. Freud would have a field day with my psyche. I’m such a freak.” He laughed, but quieted down at Lois’ stern face.

 

“You’re not a freak, Clark.” Lois gathered him close, stroking his face with her impossibly small hand. “You’ve lost more than any normal person could ever deal with. Yet you still go out there, make sure they don’t have to feel what you felt. Protect them all.” He couldn’t stand seeing the admiration in her eyes but if he closed his own he’d see Bruce again.

 

Clark wasn’t the first person to give his life for others and he wouldn’t be the last. Soldiers, firefighter, first responders were brave without having superhuman powers, and unlike him, they didn’t come back from the dead.

 

“Hey, stop that right now, Clark Joseph Kent.” Lois grabbed his face, bringing him close, kissing him lightly and smiling at him like no one else ever had. Why couldn’t he love her like he had? It should be so easy. “You’re allowed to be happy. Be happy that you’re a hero. Be happy that you were given a second chance. And even if it hurts us both, try and find happiness with someone else.”

 

It did hurt. It hurt to let go of Lois, leave her warm embrace. He could hear her hum from the shower, her heart beating slowly as she fell asleep. Clark smiled to himself as he finally caught the tune in his head. Lois had sung ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ the first time they went down to Smallville.

 

Had said if she didn’t know any better, know he was an alien from Krypton, she’d just think he was a regular farm boy from Kansas. If only it could have been that easy. If only his world could begin and end at his mother’s farm, in Lois’ arms. Then maybe he wouldn’t still be searching for home.

 

Clark got dressed, stomach knotting up as he caught a train to Gotham. How could he explain to him, tell Bruce such a ludicrous fairytale? A man dies and is brought back to life, and in his saviors arms he imprints on him. In being reborn he finally found his hope. Entering his office, he wasn’t sure if Bruce could ever answer the question Clark had been asking his entire life. If he could finally find that home he’d been searching for and if Bruce could be that for him?

“Clark?” His eyes shot up to meet Bruce’s; the name a whisper on his lips but Clark heard it like a sonic boom, everything else disappearing into the background. He could only nod at the older man, nod as tears welled in his eyes. He’d only let himself cry when he’d lost something, his father, Zod, his love for Lois. These tears felt different. He blinked them away before Bruce could notice.

 

Bruce sat there for a beat, letting Clark’s words wash over him, deciphering their meaning, feeling it warm him. He had taken so much from Clark but somehow given him this. Bruce stood, taking Clark with him, pressing him gently against the huge, glass window. He drew his head closer until it leaned against Clark’s.

“I thought that if I could save you, then I could save a part of myself. My humanity.” Bruce combed his fingers through Clark’s hair, gentle and exploring. He rubbed the pad of his finger along the curve of Clark ‘s lower lip. “Diana said it wasn’t too late to believe, but I didn’t want more than that. I didn’t believe I deserved to be in your life after that dawn. I’d taken so much already.”

 

“You're not taking anything I’m not offering. I spent too long believing that I’d never find this.” Clark was tentative, but it was his move to make and Bruce would never force more. His lips a whisper against Bruce’s, dry and soft and he swallowed a moan, feeling electricity serge between them, bringing them close. He met Clark’s mouth, searching lips and teeth with his own like a thirsty man finally finding an oasis. He allowed himself to touch, grasping at Clark’s nape, feeling the hairs, and playing the pad of his fingers along that boney flesh.

 

Clark laid another kiss along Bruce’s shadowed jaw, and if he thought the electricity he felt a moment ago had somehow dissipated, he was wrong. It was like friction in the air. “My home was destroyed, but in those moments you held me and I was reborn I found my hope again. I just need to know it’s real.”

 

Bruce’s arms encircled his waist, bringing them impossibly closer, sharing his warmth, as the night settled. Bruce studied his face, emotion painting his features, haunted but hopeful. “There’s not much I could promise you, not with what we do, but I can promise that I’m real. That I can try and be that for you.”

 

His mouth was gentler when they met Clark’s; the need was still there but calmer in knowing that neither would soon disappear. Clark smiled against the bristles of his jaw. “Now tell me about this Justice League Diana has been emailing me about.” He felt the rumble of a laugh make it’s way out his own chest. Of course, Diana had a hand in this. Bruce expected nothing less from her.

 

He sat down, bringing Clark to rest on his lap, not wanting to let him go just yet. Not when he truly just found him, found this chance for the both of them. So he talked, telling Clark about the boy who could run really fast, the man who rules the seas, the man who was mostly robot and the other alien who none of them really knew. He mapped out their future with a fine toothcomb, Clark listening, settling into Bruce’s embrace. It calmed him in a way he hadn’t felt before. It felt like something completely knew and in the same breath it felt a whole lot like home.

 

 


End file.
